


Rain

by Dominatrix



Series: 120 Raindrops on the window [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:58:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft misses him more than he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

The rain lashed down on the tall-grown man. The wrinkled on his forehead deepened further, although this seemed almost impossible. No single drop damped his expensive, long coat. From his fisted hand he looked up and didn’t wonder about the fact that his knuckles were white. The black fabric of his umbrella held all wetness off him.

It had been a gift. A Christmas gift. Well, normal brothers didn’t give each other umbrellas for christmas. But in the Holmes family nothing had ever sticked to the plan. All was a chaotic heap of arguments and complications. It was no miracle that they didn’t even see each other on Christmas.

His younger brother had given him the umbrella. Still he could hear the unnervingly cold and neutral voice. _I thought that this would be the only thing you can have on your body without the risk of it getting too tight._

It hadn’t surprised him that Sherlock wasn’t less infuriating at Christmas than any other time. Why should he be?

Yes, he had thought about throwing the damn thing away. Burn it. Put it in a dark corner of his cellar. Or just give it back to him as soon as mother left the room.

But for some reason he had kept it back then. And he had kept it ever since. There had been enough opportunities to make it vanish. But he had kept it, though he wasn’t sure why.

Every time when he had seen Sherlock he had feared that his brother would notive. That Mycroft Holmes wasn’t an ice man after all, as everybody believed. It would have been a concession, a flash of weakness none of them would dared to show.

This sorrow could now be taken out of his thoughts forever. Sherlock wouldn’t allow himself a comment on his umbrella anymore. He wouldn’t sneer about his weight. He wouldn’t get an opportunity to start a fight with him.

Sherlock Holmes was dead. His brother was dead.

It moved Mycroft more than it would have been appropriate.

He hadn’t liked him, let alone loved him. However it made him sad that he didn’t own anything from his brother expect this damned umbrella.

One thing was for sure: Mycroft would never let it rot in come corner. He wished that he would be able to do this. But he wasn’t. It seemed like Sherlock had wanted to give him a last hit in the stomach, because that’s what it felt like right now. Mycroft almost wished that it would be in fact this way. It would give this whole situation at last a hint of sense.

With dangerously calm hands he closed the umbrella and held it in his left hand. Still the rain was pouring down on the orphaned streets of London with unbelievable violence. His coat soaked greedily with the rain. After a couple of hundred meters he was soaked to the bone.

Mycroft didn’t notice.


End file.
